


i've got my mind made up now

by radicalvodkaaunt



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, PWP, essentially, gary is still a footballer, jamie is just living life lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11024721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radicalvodkaaunt/pseuds/radicalvodkaaunt
Summary: "Thought I could knock you unconscious as soon as I opened the door.""How come you decided not to?""I decided your face is too pretty for me to ruin""Oh."Or the one where Jamie gets given a random phone number and then receives some unexpected consequences.





	i've got my mind made up now

**Author's Note:**

> This is all based off a video on youtube 'gary neville prank call' cause ao3 won't let me link it apparently sorry. I find the video especially funny cause i live in bristol and know some people who go to millfield. If only I was born 10 years earlier hey. Anyway as an Arsenal fan I'm pissed of cause Gary Neville made me a United sympathiser and I'm not okay with that... yet here I am...

Jamie leant back in bed, phone pressed to his ear and a smirk playing on his lips. It’s not that he necessarily agreed with hook-up culture, but the girl he had a few nights had given him her number after a little convincing, and so naturally, he was going to use his resources. So, you can imagine his surprise when the voice on the receiver turns out to be one of a man. A very loud, very angry man.

“I sure if you’re one of those fucking Millfield kids I’m driving down to Bristol and slitting each and every one of your throats.” Now this of course, was the last thing he expected when he picked up, taking the phone away from his ear just to make sure he’d called the correct contact. Bemused, Jamie decided just to clarify that this was defiantly the wrong number, before he wallowed in self-pity that he’d been properly stitched up.

“Vanessa?” he questions, although maybe her name had been Melissa. It doesn’t matter because he’s not going to hook up with anyone ever again. These kinds of embarrassments happened more than he liked to admit and to be honest, he was over it.

He heard a huff from the phone, and he moved it a few centimetres from his face, lest he lose hearing in his right ear after this. “Who the fuck is Vanessa? Is she the one who gave my number to Tony Adams’ son?”

Jamie has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, and how Tony Adams is a part of it. He thought he recognized the voice, but couldn’t put a name to it. Definitely an absolute prick however. “You know Tony Adams?” Jamie asked instead, because that’d be cool, maybe if this guy knew Tony Adams he’d know some actual good footballers, Steven Gerrard being the obvious one to come to mind. God what Jamie would do for a few hours alone with Stevie G himself. That train of thought was interrupted by the continuously more annoyed tones of whoever was speaking to him.

“Fuck off ya prick of course I know Tony Adams, I know every good footballer, I’m Gary Neville for fucks sake.” The last words made Jamie’s blood run cold, of course he could recognise that bastards voice, it was ingrained in his mind like a broken record screeching the same damn note. Well now this had gotten interesting. “What the fuck is a Scouse cunt doing in Bristol anyway?”

Jamie laughed, because this was oddly surreal, and also because this might be the only chance he gets to punch Gary Neville in the face and he was going to find a way to take that chance, “I live in Liverpool mate, with all the other ‘Scouse cunts,’ asshole.”

Jamie felt he should be recording this conversation, no one’s going to believe this actually happened otherwise, but he decided he didn’t have to when Neville spoke next, “Well fuck this, I’ll drive down and sort this out properly. Give me your address or I’ll give your number to the police just like what happened with all ya little Millfield pals.” Jamie still had no clue what a ‘Millfield’ was, but if Jamie was going to get arrested, it would be better if it was for assaulting a Manc cunt than being given a wrong number.

“You know, I think this counts as blackmail,” Jamie quipped, to which ‘shut the fuck up’ was growled down the phone. Jamie just laughed.

So, he announced his address and Neville announced he’d be there in an hour, leaving Jamie confused, a bit weirded out, and maybe a little excited at meeting a footballer. Even if it had to be a rat from the sewer.

Jamie didn’t know what to do with himself then, in the wait between. His flat wasn’t looking too great, it was certainly small, especially for a footballers standards. He wasn’t particularly in the business of feeling he should clean-up for Gary Neville, he had no reason to try and remotely impress him. He could probably think through all the different outcomes of this unlikely meeting, so he doesn’t get caught off guard. Instead he watches the Liverpool highlights from the night before.

Liverpool highlights naturally turned to Arsenal low points, and it was in that moment that he heard a hard banging on his door, any stronger and there might be enough force to knock the flimsy thing down. He decided it not be best to wait and see if that could be true, picking himself off the sofa and unlocking the door with a soft clunk.

Jamie wanted to laugh, maybe in disbelief, that Gary Neville was actually stood in the doorway of his Liverpool apartment. He was shorter than his massive ego would suggest, scowl plastering his face as usual but maybe he looks a little shocked too. “You’re not 14!” He yelled, and Jamie wonders if he knows how to use an indoor voice, of if this is his constant volume. Must be unbearable to have him in your team.

“You drove for an hour thinking it’d be alright to come to a 14 year olds house?” Jamie asked, it was a question that didn’t require an answer, after all the man was here, “I knew Manchester was dirty, didn’t think it considered paedophilia normal though.” The scowl on Neville’s face turned ever deeper and Jamie just smirked and invited him in like an old friend or something. This was the weirdest thing to ever happen in his life.

“Shut up, all the others on the phone had been like 14,” Neville mumbled, as he trailed behind Jamie, kicking his shoes off into the pile just next to door, like any good house guest. And his loud confident demeanour from before diminishing as he too is probably realising how stupid his own idea is. It amused Jamie that as soon as he wasn’t confronted with a kid he turned quiet. Pathetic really.

“You’re only digging yourself a bigger hole mate,” Neville huffed, probably offended by being reffered to as ‘mate,’ Jamie only did it to annoy him. No one wants to be associated with Scousers less than Gary Neville, Jamie was going to milk this as much as possible. “You want anything to drink, tea, coffee, I have a couple of beers?”

“I’ll take a beer, um…” Neville trailed off, aware Jamie knew who he was and a lot more than that too, yet he didn’t even know Jamie’s name. It must be off putting, being in the public eye like that, Jamie wonders if Gary had been worried of being followed here. That would ruin his reputation.

“Jamie,” he prompted, and Neville smiled thinly, nodding and repeating the name like a parrot, just to test out as a child would a new word. Jamie smiled at that, even as Neville wandered around the admittedly small apartment, casually making his way down the narrow hallway and into the living room.

Jamie decided not to argue about it, reaching down in the fridge and bringing out the pack of beers. It was the cheap nondescript brand you pick up from the supermarket. Jamie wished he had some ever lower in quality just to make the rich snob suffer further.

Jamie walked into the living room to find Neville sat on the sofa watching the tv, watching United highlights. Fucking narcissist. “Knew you had an ego, didn’t think it was this bad,” Jamie said, collapsing on the sofa next to Neville, passing him a can and cracking one open himself.

Jamie had noticed it when watching the North-West derby on tv, but in real life it was even more prominent. That is that if looks could kill, Gary Neville would be a mass murderer. Jamie tries to suppress the feeling that he’s being pinned down like a mouse by a cat and he holds his breath to stop it coming out ragged. He doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into, so he just drinks his beer and looks away from Neville in the hopes death won’t flash before his eyes again.

“So, why are 14 year olds calling you anyway?” Jamie asks, breaking the lull in the silence between beer cans being emptied and more being opened, that was starting to turn awkward in time, and pundits calling United the best team in the league was not something Jamie wants to hear.

Neville continues to give him that death glare, eyebrows furrowed together and in all honesty Jamie wondered if he had any other facial expressions. “Some kids somehow got a hold of my number,” he grumbled, “And you’re telling me you have nothing to do with it,” his voice sounds more threatening than it should, Jamie feels tension all across his shoulders.

“Yeah no, I have no connection to 14 year olds from Bristol,” Neville looked disgruntled, as if Jamie was going to come out as the ring leader of this whole operation against him, or something like that. Admittedly if Jamie was able to get an army of pissed off 14 year olds to beat up Gary Neville, he would certainly do so. “Nah, some girl must’ve given me a random number, and I got the pleasure of speaking to you instead of her.” Jamie leans back on the sofa, spreading his arms along the back even if that means Gary is situated under it. He relaxed despite the obvious tension. This was fine.

“Vanessa?” Gary asks, probably putting some of the pieces of their initial conversation together finally. God he was slow.

“Or Melissa,” Jamie smirked, taking a sip of his beer and muting his tv as a mid-table clash that simply consisted of buses being parked kicked off. Football on a Monday night never caught his attention.

“Ah, so you’re a dick, shouldn’t of expected anything different from you’re kind,” Jamie snorted at the reply, as if the famous footballer beside him wasn’t banging girls left and right. That kind of reaction was rich coming from him. Jamie kept that opinion to himself. “So how come you let me come down anyway?”

Jamie turned his head to face Gary. The sun was disappearing from the room and the world, the green of a grainy looking football pitch illuminates the room. Everything suddenly felt a lot more compact once shrouded by the ever-approaching darkness, Gary Neville looked a lot less ugly when his pale skin and wide eyes were being reflected by the receding light. Jamie drank the rest of his beer before he replied. “Thought I could knock you unconscious as soon as I opened the door.”

Gary laughed at that, short and sharp and Jamie still watched him, “How come you decided not to?” Jamie felt a smile creep on his face, the one he would use on the nights out, the one he knew _worked_. Maybe he was slightly more buzzed than he thought three beers could get him, but there was no turning back once the words had left his mouth.

“I decided your face is too pretty for me to ruin”

“Oh.”

Jamie moved his eyeline from Gary’s eyes down to his lips as his cheeks turned bright red. Okay, so Gary Neville was never his first choice of footballers to shag, but this would have to do. He moved his hand down to run his thumb across Gary’s jaw line, then grazing across his bottom lip so slow, moist from where Gary had been gnawing nervously along it. Electricity sparked through them, an energy which was a second away from blowing the fuse.

“Oh,” Jamie repeated lowly, watching Gary from under his eyelashes as that single syllable triggers him into action, an electrical explosion as he presses his lips hot and heavy against Jamie’s. His lips were softer than Jamie had ever expected, pressing against his with a burning heat that spread across his face quickly. Gary Neville was erratic and emotional on the pitch, maybe he should’ve expected this to happen as well.

And Gary was quick to know what he wanted as well, breaking the kiss only to get into a better position, straddling across Jamie’s lap. Jamie tipped his chin upwards and laced his fingers into Gary’s hair as their lips met again. It was feverish and messy, Gary tugging on Jamie’s bottom lip with his teeth whilst Jamie took in the taste of beer and Manchester, dirty on his tongue, but he loved it anyway. He couldn’t breath and he was feeling lightheaded, and maybe that was the Gary Neville affect because he’d never felt this way before.

Gary looked a mess above him, hair falling in front of his eyes and chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked as he did on the pitch, the image scarred in his brain as he had yelled at the tv screen, screamed abuse from the stands of Anfield. This was different though, because this time instead of imagining his hands around Gary’s throat, choking him to his final breath, his lips are grazing along his neck, tongue brushing along the sharp lines of his Adam’s apple.

He enjoyed hearing his harsh breaths in person, enjoyed watching him take his sweatshirt off. He’d been wearing a United jersey underneath the entire time, fucking dick. If only Jamie had thought of wearing his own Liverpool shirt, there would be riots in both cities.

Jamie traced his fingers underneath the shirt, ignoring the dank taste in his mouth at the sight of it. He moved his hands across hard muscle and dipped his head to scrape his teeth along Gary’s collarbone, taking satisfaction from the whines that were produced, echoing into distant nothingness. He skin tastes of sweat and expensive cologne, all across his neck, Jamie loves that Gary’s neck is his, Gary’s body is his. He’s not sure if Gary is older or younger than him, but the way he ruts in his lap makes Jamie think of his days as a teenager, the same thrill coursing through his veins. He hasn’t felt this way in years.

He lifted his tongue off of Gary’s skin, his hands still wrapped firmly around the bare skin of his waist. He looked at Gary’s face, flicking his eyes to the tv screen to see one of the teams had gotten themselves a goal. They weren’t the only ones who were going to be scoring that night. Jamie smiled softly, looking back at the soft glow that had been Gary. Their lips were only centimetres apart, electricity thrummed just below the skin and Gary decided to speak, “Will you remember my name?”

It was a joke, it had to be a joke. But he wasn’t smiling, and maybe being a footballer held a much heavier feeling than winning and glory. Every person wants to be remembered by the masses, the last thing you want is to fade into nothingness. Even now, Gary doesn’t want to be forgotten. Jamie wishes he could promise that nothing would beat this moment, but that went against everything he knew.

“Will you remember mine?” he asks instead, but he doesn’t get a response, Gary finally closing the gaps so breaths are muffled again and instead everything is just dull and wet and the occasional moan. Gary’s lips move slower against Jamie’s, his hips rolling in languid motions which cause the breath to be caught in Jamie’s throat, choking on air, choking on Gary’s entire presence.

They break apart, only for Jamie to remove Gary’s jersey, throwing the offending object far away. He wanted to forget that divide for tonight, and with Gary half naked and breathless above him, well it was easy to not think about it. He removes his own t-shirt, and their skin is hot pressed against one another, burning like they were bread in an oven. Gary whimpers and he’s flushed red and beautiful and Jamie wants to devour him whole.

“I don’t usually fuck on me sofa,” Jamie whispered, his words coming out in short bursts of breath as Gary moves his hips in a more forceful motion, his hands laid flat on Jamie’s chest, and Jamie’s not sure a word he just said was heard, blood pumping around their ears, losing themselves into nothingness. “C’mon love,” he puffed, nudging Gary gently until he looked up, eyes wide and innocent like a puppy that’s been caught chewing a slipper. Jamie smiled and kissed his lips gently, before helping him stand up on wobbly legs and moving him the few feet to the bedroom.

Gary fell backwards on the bed, pulling himself upwards so he lay in the middle, propping himself up on his elbows just to watch Jamie. He looked a sight, dishevelled with hair sticking up from all angles and chest rising and falling in uneven patterns. He could be an angel and Jamie blinks just to make sure he doesn’t disappear. Then he swallows hard and pulls his trousers off, flicking them off his feet with less than graceful movements, before crawling onto the bed, hovering over Gary’s form.

Jamie stared at him for that moment, hand running through his hair gently, eyes locked on one another and there was a connection, a connection like fire and ice and Jamie could feel himself melting. “You’re beautiful,” Jamie murmured, pressing his lips into dark hair. It felt so intimate for a man he didn’t know. Except he did know him, he’d known him for so years and hated him for even longer, just by association. But somehow, that didn’t matter anymore.

Gary snorted, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling anyway, “I’d rather fit, buff, ruggedly handsome,” he replied, his hands becoming restless as they started to trail down Jamie’s body, reclining backwards so his head hit the sheets, lying flat on his back and he just looked… soft.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jamie mumbled, kissing him hard as Gary’s hands track down his abdomen. Jamie doesn’t break the kiss as he struggles to remove Gary’s jeans, his hips cocking upwards as they’re shuffled off his legs. Gary lets out a short, stuttered sigh as Jamie brushes his lips down Gary’s throat, breathing and kissing and licking along his chest. He dips his tongue in the crevices between his ribs and Gary let’s out a long whine, and Jamie only wanted to hear more.

His hands moved back to Gary’s hips, slowly drawing his underwear off him, spying a United logo on them as he threw them away. He thought about commenting on it, but decided against it as he got distracted by the sight of Gary’s cock, lying along his stomach. Jamie licked his lips, throat suddenly very dry. He pressed his tongue on the underside, moving upwards slowly and swirling his tongue along the head. Although this wasn’t his main aim of the night, but he had to have a taste, had to know. Gary’s knees, which had been bent upwards, kicked out and his toes curled as he struggled to find his breath. It was obvious he hadn’t been expecting that. Jamie smirked to himself.

Jamie moved lower then, sucking bruises into Gary’s smooth thighs, just to remind him that he had been there, had been everywhere. And because he likes the delicate whimpering sounds Gary produces with each scrape of his teeth over increasingly sensitive skin.

“Lube ‘n’ shit is in top drawer to ya right,” Jamie breathed slowly onto quivering thighs. Still he looked up and caught the briefest of glares from Gary, as Jamie had broken him out of his fucked stupor.

Still, he turned onto his side, reaching above his head and fumbling around the drawer, Jamie catching the bottle that was mindlessly thrown at him inadeptly, Gary squinting to check the date on the condom before chucking that over too, “You make your guest do all the work then.” If he was trying to sound indignant, it didn’t work, his voice rough and course instead.

Jamie rolled his eyes, “I’m gonna disagree with you there,” he replied softly, as to not let his own voice betray him. And he decided to not let Gary dispute him further, pushing a finger inside him instead, to which he sucked in a sharp breath that then came out as a long moan.

Jamie bit his lip, watching Gary squirm underneath him, as he adds a second slick finger. He scissors his two finger, can hear and see and _feel_ every single one of Gary’s breaths, his drawn out whines resonating in his bones and making him dizzy. Jamie crooks his pointer finger and Gary cries out, both knees squeezing Jamie’s sides, both of them learning how to breathe again. Jamie pumps his fingers in slow motion, stuttered movements and his wrist begins to ache as he adds a third finger. The irritant pain is worth it for the way Gary squeezes his eyes shut and lets out his perfect little whines. Jamie leans down to kiss him, just missing his lips fully and licking his tongue along his bottom lip only.

Gary groans, gripping his fingers into Jamie’s hair and tells him to hurry up. Jamie tells him you can’t rush perfection. He receives a sharp tug on the back of his head that tells him otherwise.

Jamie removed his own boxers, which had been dampened by precum, and they land with a soft thud on the ground. All he can hear is anticipation. He rolls on the condom, slicks himself with lube, nips at Gary’s hip bone that juts out, just to hear him hiss in discomfort. Then he pulls himself up the bed, lying parallel, hovering just above Gary’s body.

Then all he can hear is Gary’s cautious cries mixed with Jamie’s obnoxious moans. He pushes in slowly, carefully, Gary so tight around his cock and he digs his teeth into the corner of Gary’s jaw, to muffle himself, to detract attention from the pain Gary may be feeling elsewhere. Jamie rolled his hips slowly, Gary throwing his head back, jaw slack and mouth wide opened. Jamie wondered what all the words he wasn’t saying were.

Gary was quick to adjust to the new sensation however, shuffling his own body and whining with his so very dirty mouth, “Just fuck me,” and well, Jamie didn’t have to be told twice. He moved backwards just to push back in. Hard. Jamie had never been much of a delicate fucker, and he wasn’t going to change that Gary Neville. Even if he was a footballer who probably fell over when a leaf brushed past him.

Except Gary wasn’t soft anymore. He was rough and hot and, he was burning and so was Jamie. Everywhere their skin touched felt like a furnace. Jamie lapped at Gary’s melting skin, tasted the sweat on his chest, salty like the cool ocean. The man was a breathing oxymoron at that moment, and Jamie took as much of that breath into his own lungs as he could handle. He never wanted to forget the taste.

Gary hooked his ankles around Jamie’s back, his heels digging into his spine, but it was hardly a problem. Jamie bucked his hips faster, going even deeper and Gary’s nails are digging into his arms whilst he begs for more contact, more pace. More, more, more. And Jamie would comply, obedient to his new Mancunian friend. Jamie still thought somewhere that this must be a joke.

But that thought was scarcely on his mind, not as his stomach tightened, threatening to come loose. Not when he brought one hand to run down along Gary’s dick, and could hear in the desperate notes of his voice how close he was. He leaned forwards to kiss Gary again, although it was barely a kiss so much as just lips together, breaths together, them together. But every part of Gary was perfect, felt perfect under his hands and on his cock, and it was Gary who squeezed his eyes shut and threw his head back, letting out a pathetic choked cry, that meant Jamie knew he held no chance.

He bit down hard into Gary’s shoulder as he came, covering up his own whispering moans and leaving dented marks on delicate skin instead. They served as a reminder, that Jamie doesn’t want to be forgotten either.

He just about managed to miss Gary’s panting chest as he collapsed onto the bed instead, removing the condom and throwing it into the bin by his bed. Then he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breath. He looked over at Gary, who was looking much the same as him, red and glistening in a layer of sweat, a patch of cum on his stomach which he hadn’t had the energy to wipe away. Completely fucked. Jamie couldn’t help but chuckle weakly.

“What?” Gary asked. Gary turned his head also to look at him, and damp hair fell into his eyes, but it didn’t seem he had the energy to brush them away. Jamie did that for him.

“You look cute,” Jamie replied, feeling no need to sugar-coat anything he says when he’s lying in bed naked with someone. That someone closed their eyes, obviously tired from previous activities and Jamie smiled, maybe almost fondly, “It’s strange.”

Even with eyes shut, Gary still manages a scowl which is just as powerful as any other Jamie had seen, “You just shagged the life out of me, and now you think it’s strange,” he pointed out. Of course, Jamie had been thinking about how weird this has been the moment Gary picked up the phone, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Instead,

“Your boys at United ever treat you this good?” He said this as he pulled the duvet up and over them both, because it didn’t seem like Gary was going anywhere any time soon, and Jamie wasn’t going to force him out either.

Gary pressed his face into the pillow, his mumbling muffled when he spoke so Jamie could only just hear him, but he heard, “Hmm, you’d like to know,” and Jamie rolled his eyes, maybe he was pushing his luck, but perhaps luck was on his side tonight.

Jamie watched as Gary breathed, the blanket rising with his lungs and falling too. Even in the dark his silhouette alone was perfect, from sharp elbows and ribs to the mess of hair like a halo on his head. He could be an angel.

Jamie thought he was going too far in his thoughts and feelings, and so he promptly fell asleep too.

-

It had been bittersweet when a couple of weeks later Gary had run over to the Liverpool supporters, to _Jamie_ , just for that 90th minute goal celebration. Jamie had spat at him and screamed that he was the devil incarnate. He’d probably take it as a compliment. Maybe Gary had done it out of defiance, _Gary Neville is a Red_ , but he’d slept with a scouser. In a small way, it gives Jamie a sense of importance, that this was done for him, it was something only he would understand. And okay, maybe he doesn’t hate Gary as much as he should for a celebration like that. Maybe he remembers the taste of his skin too vividly.

So, what if Jamie began to watch United matches for all the wrong reasons from then on. His blood ran Liverpool red, but perhaps it had been poisoned, stained a new shade that made his head dizzy.

Of course, Jamie moved on, a one night stand was just that after all. That doesn’t mean, a few years later, he didn’t start enjoying Monday Night Football a little more.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a bit nervous about posting this only because the quality of writing for this dumb ship is so high and idk if i was going to come anywhere near that sort of level of writing, hence why my first endeavour into this ship is a dumb banter thing. I have plans for a longer, maybe multi chaptered carraville fic, but i won't be writing that until summer comes. Anyways, pls come find me on tumblr my URL is fuck-football if u want and have a nice day everybody.


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